The Fourth Runi (The Fledgling Account Book 4)

by Y. K. Willemse

  “Tha’s wha’ I reckoned. Yeh’d think King Robert would have spoken up for Raf.”

  It had taken Rafen a while to figure out what they were talking about. The occurrences of that morning seemed so far away. He gritted his teeth and attempted standing again, pausing a moment to let his sight clear.

  “Oh Sherwin,” Etana said, “my father tried to help. He thought that prompting Richard to show his phoenix feather would make him confess that he’s a fraud. As it is, it only made things worse. Father’s afraid to say anything now. And Richard keeps overruling Father when Father says we shouldn’t hunt Rafen.”

  “Well,” Sherwin said grimly, “I hope King Robert punished tha’ Lord Harte.”

  “Lord Harte is no longer my father’s advisor. Richard’s not happy about that either.” There was a pause. “The Lashki must have planted many of his servants in the crowd,” Etana said, repressed terror in her tone. “He could never have broken the protection around the New Isles palace like that. The whole temple portico and dais was surrounded with invisible shields today, all of which he or his followers somehow shattered. If Father hadn’t selected Siana’s best philosophers to protect this property, Rafen would probably be dead by now.”

  “Charmin’ thought,” Sherwin said.

  “I must check Rafen; it’s been another two minutes.”

  Etana walked into the kitchen and around the table as Rafen rose fully.

  “Oh, Rafen, you mustn’t,” Etana said. “You look terrible.”

  Rafen stared into her face. She looked profoundly weary and even ill. Worry clouded her brilliant blue eyes. But she was here – untouched, unharmed.

  “Etana,” he said hoarsely.

  “Thank you,” she said, “for this morning. I wish you hadn’t done it. Everyone thinks you and the Lashki are working together now, even though there’s not the slightest logic in it.”

  “How did you get here?” Rafen said. He gripped her hand to convince himself she was real.

  “Father and I had already planned a diversion and an escape for me a while ago,” Etana said. “Demus was involved. It still worked, even though circumstances were a bit different than what we expected.”

  “I was going to come for you.”

  “Yeah, right after ’e ’ad his seizure,” Sherwin said deprecatingly, flopping into a chair.

  Rafen flushed. “I would have come.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Etana said soothingly, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a cool hand.

  “He cannot help the seizure,” Francisco said, appearing from the tiny hallway.

  He wrapped some dried meat in a cloth on the table.

  “Francisco, saddle the horses with Sherwin,” Rafen said.

  “Yes,” Francisco said nervously. “The Lashki moves fast.”

  “Richard’s the main worry,” Etana said.

  “I do not think so,” Francisco countered. “The Lashki will attack with the Sartians. He will think it is a perfect plan. I am afraid I know something of how he works.”

  “All right then,” Sherwin said, rising from his chair and stepping past Rafen and Etana to the door.

  Francisco rose to follow him. “I have packed some food, Rafen,” he said. “We need some clothes and that is all.” He handed Rafen a filled water pouch and then left. Rafen drank rapidly, pictures from his vision still flashing through his mind.

  “Is Richard all right?”

  Etana met his eyes, and there was a long moment of silence.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, and Rafen was horrified to see disappointment in her gaze.

  “I was angry,” Rafen said sharply. “I don’t even know why I went to help him.”

  “Rafen, you acted like the Lashki would have,” Etana said, wrenching her hand from his. “You know it wasn’t right. If you want to fight and kill Richard—”

  “You must agree that sometimes it’s tempting!” Rafen blurted out.

  “Yes, I do agree,” Etana said. “Even I’ve been tempted. But Rafen, it was not honorable. If finishing him was your desire, then you should have waited and challenged him to a fair fight to prove who the Runi is.”

  Rafen leaned against the table and laughed bitterly. “You really think he would face me in a fair fight? And what was I to have done then and there at the temple?”

  “Fought alongside him!” Etana said angrily. “You should have protected him and saved him like you saved me.”

  Rafen’s insides went cold. “So you do feel something for him.”

  “No!” Etana cried. “Rafen, how could you? Of course I don’t! Yet what you did proved everything he said about you. If you’d fought alongside him, you would have shown the people that he was lying. You would have earned their favor again. Now you have lost the hearts of the Sianians.”

  Rafen stared at the wooden tabletop, his head swimming. At last he spoke, very softly. “You’re right. I did exactly what the Lashki expected me to do. I’ve dishonored Zion.” He raised his head and met her eyes, his shoulders sagging.

  “Rafen, you may well see the results of this action of yours for years to come,” Etana told him. “Richard will survive, but he’s having a lot of trouble breathing properly. Now his opinion of you will likely be set forever, and the people’s opinion may well mirror that.”

  Rafen swallowed, his stomach churning. It was a horrible prophecy. “Why didn’t you speak up for me?”

  “Rafen, I couldn’t,” she said. “It would have been the worst defense imaginable after what Richard said. It would have supported his words.”

  Rafen stared at the misshapen, slanting door. Then he looked back at her. “You are sick,” he said with agonized concern. He drew closer, raising a hand to stroke her face. “You seem… weaker somehow.”

  “I am not sick,” Etana said ruefully. “If only it were so easily cured.” She lowered her voice. “I’m pregnant.”

  Rafen froze, staring into her eyes. “What?”

  “I am three months pregnant.”

  Rafen’s brain was swirling and numb for a minute. Then his face split into a rather tired grin.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Pregnant! We’ll be parents, Etana!”

  “Rafen, we’re in a great deal of trouble,” Etana said. “It’s all very well having a child. Imagine what would happen if Richard found out about this – if the country found out… particularly with the way New Isles feels about you at the moment. You won’t be able to train at the palace after all now. It is more likely Father will have to provide you with men, and we will have to begin the battle for Siana over again. I spoke to him about you, and he tried once more to make it possible for you to train at the palace. He also attempted to get Richard to confess he wasn’t the Runi. We were really waiting for Richard to do that today, before all the people.”

  “That was why you didn’t write?”

  “Richard was getting so suspicious, Rafen. I couldn’t do any such thing without him knowing. Father had helped me plan an escape if today turned out badly… which it did.” Her face crumpled. “Rafen, should the child come to full term and I would give birth, who would look after it? And where would we keep it? You have enough trouble taking care of yourself.”

  Rafen shook his head. “Etana, I’m going to take care of us. Nothing is coming near our family; I will fight for us.” He was saying this with difficulty, a strangely thick feeling in his throat. He grasped her hands. “I don’t care what it takes.”

  “I know,” Etana said softly.

  The door flew open, nearly knocking them over, and Francisco leapt into the room.

  “Rafen, the Lashki is here,” he panted, his face white, “and he has an army the size of Siana around the house.”

  Chapter Ten

  The

  Lashki’s Chase

  Rafen released Etana and lunged over to the window left of the door. He flung open the casements and took in the sight of a large circle of flaming torches in the darkness around the house. Th
us far, the army was perfectly silent, waiting for his appearance. Although the circle around the house was currently wide enough to pen thirty horses, it was diminishing all too quickly.

  “Are you sure it’s him?” Rafen asked, turning to Francisco.

  “For a surety,” Francisco said. “When outside, you can see members of the army are Naztwai.”

  Rafen’s first thought was that now he had the chance to kill his mother’s murderer. His hand dropped to his hilt, his fingers tingling.

  “Rafen, you cannot!” Francisco said shrilly, guessing his intent. “Please do not do it. He has two thousand men out there. It is not as if you will be facing him alone.”

  “What?” Etana said in a strangled voice. “Rafen, you can’t be thinking of fighting the Lashki – not now. We have to get out of here! You can’t face him with all those men.”

  The vision of Nazt sweeping over everything returned to Rafen forcefully.

  “You’re right,” he said with an effort, frustration simmering in him. “Let’s go – to Adelphia’s.”

  “You still need clothes,” Etana said. “We must—”

  “There’s no time,” Rafen cut in.

  He grabbed Etana’s arm, put out the two candles on the table, and threw open the door again. Francisco scampered out before them, and they rushed after him as silently as possible. The subdued tramping of many feet was audible out of doors in the heavily falling rain. Francisco flung open one of the stable doors to be confronted by a wild-eyed Sherwin with his sword drawn.

  “Ah, it’s yer,” he said. “Yer should’ve given the signal. We’re all ready.”

  Four horses were saddled, one of which was Etana’s white one. She had probably left it ready for riding when she had arrived. Two others belonged to Francisco and Sherwin, and the remaining one was the last of Roger’s stock. Rafen had lost his previous steed in the marketplace, something that would have horrified Roger.

  “Put out the lantern, Sherwin,” Rafen said as he mounted. “We don’t want them to see when we open both the stable doors.”

  Sherwin hurriedly put out the lantern before opening the doors.

  “I’ll go first,” Rafen said. “We’re going to ride like fiends and try to get through the eastern side of the circle. It seems to be only three rows deep. Then we’ll double round as best as possible and make for Adelphia’s.”

  “Right,” Sherwin said.

  The rainfall was very thick now, and Rafen was glad it would, to some extent, mask their noise.

  “Etana, come behind me,” he said. “Then Francisco and then Sherwin.”

  Rafen hoped Sherwin wouldn’t be offended by this arrangement. It might be terribly hard for the last person to get out, and he knew that Francisco wouldn’t manage it and Etana was now carrying two lives.

  “Zion help us,” he muttered.

  Gritting his teeth, he dug in his heels, and his black horse sprang forward. It felt like a gallop toward his own execution. He spurred the stallion onto a speed it had never previously attained, always veering for what looked to be the weakest link in the circle, which was all too hard to tell because of the darkness and the rain. He was about a stone’s throw away when they realized what was happening. He glimpsed Naztwai’s faces, their swirling eyes glittering and their fur wet and matted. Ashurites steadied their bows or their blades for aim. Further along in the circle, Annette uttered a scornful laugh. Whipping out his sword, Rafen hit the ranks with a bang, kesmal and arrows flying in all directions about him as he hunched downward in his saddle. An axe swung toward his leg; his horse leapt forward in time and then reared in fear. Rafen clung on, hacking at anything he could see with his flaming blade. Kesmal exploded in his peripheral vision; it was coming straight for his eye. Rafen flung an arm out behind himself and a fiery shield appeared just as his horse recovered itself and lunged forward. He was free of the circle; it was as shallow as he had expected. Then teeth sank into his calf, and he shouted in agony, kicking the Naztwai in the mouth. Turning in the saddle, he shot a focused orange beam straight into its eye. The Naztwai reeled backward, whistling horribly.

  “Etana?” Rafen called, looking around frantically for her.

  She was already ahead of him.

  “Rafen, come now!” she cried.

  Rafen looked behind for Francisco, who had managed to extricate himself too. An Ashurite close behind him hurled a knife toward his torso.

  “FRANCISCO!” Rafen hollered.

  Francisco’s horse broke into a gallop of its own accord.

  “What are you doing?” Francisco shouted at Rafen, who was still glancing around for Sherwin. “You are just standing there!”

  He whipped his pistol from his belt and fired a shot past Rafen’s horse’s ears. The stallion leapt into a run after Etana’s white mare. The ranks were turning now to face Rafen and rows of Naztwai and Ashurites were running toward him. He felt the wind of an arrow pass his back.

  An explosion of blue scattered a group of Naztwai from which Sherwin’s horse emerged, cantering wildly. His blood boiling, Rafen tore his sword from his sheath and cast a fiery wall between himself, Sherwin, Francisco, and their attackers. The Lashki appeared, sweeping through the shambling Naztwai. He raised his copper rod and directed it at the wall. Without waiting to see the outcome, Rafen spurred his horse on toward the shelter of the Cursed Woods, where their enemies would be forced to disband somewhat. He had scarcely burst through the leaves when he realized Etana was waiting for him on her horse, her hands twisted around her silver scepter.

  She seized his shoulder and hissed, “For Zion’s sake, you are the Runi. If you die now, it’s over. Ride hard and stop waiting for people who can take care of themselves.”

  Remembering his vision again, he followed as she wheeled her horse around and galloped ahead into the cottonwoods. The other two caught up with them seconds later. A great orange flicker told him his wall had been destroyed. The squealing and whistling of the Naztwai became audible, and the ground shook with the pursuit of their enemies.

  Within an hour, their horses were weary from running full speed, and at every turn, there was a Naztwai or philosopher. Rafen’s sword arm ached, and he felt shaky. Etana looked ready to drop from her horse. The Lashki hadn’t appeared yet. He probably hadn’t thought it necessary since his men were doing such a good job of tiring the four of them out.

  Rafen burst through another screen of leaves after Etana, only to find her battling the oblong-faced Asiel, who was also on horseback. His knotted brown dreadlocks flying, Asiel lazily flicked spiraling kesmal toward Etana’s chest. With a desperate cry, Etana blocked it with a brilliant gold wall. Her horse shied, and her fingers slipped, the scepter dropping to the ground. Rafen drove his horse toward the Ashurite. With a nasty gleam in his white-blue eyes, Asiel urged his horse forward first and plunged his nhanya blade toward Etana’s wall. Rafen’s fiery ray hit the philosopher’s hip, and he shrieked, nearly falling from his horse. His robes burst into flames, and he cantered away, cursing.

  A Sartian horse exploded through the leaves to Etana’s side as she retrieved her scepter and remounted. After unseating the Sartian with a blast of kesmal, both Rafen and Etana dug in their heels and galloped into the greenery.

  Though the Sartians had now permeated the Woods, everywhere Etana and Rafen encountered them, they were fighting Ashurites or Naztwai. It took an hour to escape their enemies. Reeling with exhaustion, Rafen paused in a deserted part of the Woods with Etana, staring at the basswoods around them. The Woods were eerily silent. Any owls or bats had been scared from the branches around them long since.

  “Where are Sherwin and Francisco?” he mouthed to Etana.

  “I don’t know,” Etana said. She was streaked with dirt, and her cheeks were cut in places from twigs.

  Hoofbeats sounded behind them, and Rafen wheeled around in his saddle, clutching his sword with a shaking hand. Sherwin broke out of the foliage, with Francisco close behind. Francisco’s eyes were wide with terror
.

  “I think we’ve lost ’em, temporarily,” Sherwin said.

  “We’re not far from New Isles,” Rafen said. “We’ll travel along the fringe of the Woods that border the city until we reach the foot of the mountains to the South. Only, I’m not sure of the way up.”

  “I’ll lead,” Sherwin said confidently.

  It was an agonizingly long journey, and every minute, Rafen expected a Naztwai to jump out of the bushes and eat Etana. He rode close to her, his shoulders tight as he gripped his sword. He estimated that some hundred Sartians were after him, and mentally thanked Zion that they were acting as a distracting force for the Lashki’s troops. However, it wouldn’t be long before their more sinister pursuers broke through and followed them.

  They were at the foot of the Mountains after four hours’ hard riding, and Sherwin estimated they could be at Adelphia’s two hours before sunrise.

  “We might even get some bo-peep,” Sherwin said, urging his horse up the beginnings of a rocky slope, startling a resting elk into timid flight.

  “You’re delusional,” Rafen told him, allowing Etana to precede him. He cast a nervous glance at the black behind him. Nothing moved except the occasional owl. Now that everything had slowed down, his vision was haunting him. He glanced at Etana. Nothing could afford to go wrong tonight; he was not going to die.

  They had spent two hours ascending into gradual coldness when a beam of kesmal struck Rafen’s steed. Mid-fall, Rafen managed to throw himself slightly sideways before the collapsing horse could roll onto his leg and crush it. Etana screamed.

  Hitting the tufted hairgrass front forward, Rafen pulled himself up, dazed. Another explosion filled his vision. He fell backward, flinging up a huge, fiery shield. His horse lay ominously still nearby, and the other three horses were panicking. Scrambling up the cold slope, Rafen watched with despair as first Francisco’s and then Sherwin’s horse bolted.

  Etana had dismounted to help him. She hurled herself before him, her arms spread as shapes rushed out of the darkness toward him.

  “No,” Rafen said, seizing her waist.